


my standards are pampered

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-RotJ, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6976315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Endor, everyone's suddenly clearing out, just like that. Like once you win a damn war, there's no reason to stick around. Han's got a bad feeling about that.</p><p>Lando just wants to have dinner.</p><p>And Leia would <i>love</i> to know more about Han's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my standards are pampered

**Author's Note:**

> Title & epigraph from Kendrick Lamar's verse on "[Fucking Problems](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liZm1im2erU)".
> 
> Thanks to aphrodite_mine, lingua_mortua, & Deputychairman for assorted encouragement and inspiration.

That means your friends need be up to par  
See my standards are pampered by threesomes tomorrow

Wedge and Luke amble away, heads tipped together, their white vests and bright jumpsuits gradually dimming the farther into the hangar they go.

Han watches them for a while, drumming his fingers on the _Falcon_ 's fuselage. Something's twisted up in his gut, not quite sitting right. Everyone's suddenly clearing out, just like that. Like once you win a damn war, there's no reason to stick around.

Leia's been back from Naboo with Bey for less than two days - you could say Operation Cinder is still smoldering (Han wishes he'd thought of that when someone was around to hear, actually) - but even she's making noises about heading back to the Inner Core.

Han has seen shit blow up when you least expect it. Why the hell is no one's prepping for that, he'd like to know.

"What's got you so angry?" Lando calls from the gangway.

Han manages to _not_ jump in surprise. "Who says I'm angry?"

"You're about a minute from punching something," Lando says. "Look at you, furious as an unfed Huttlet."

Han grabs the first tool that comes to hand and sets to pretending he's busy. "Furious is right. Look at the shape you brought her back in. Gets worse every time I check."

"Come on up inside," Lando calls. "Dinner's on."

"Your cooking is terrible!" Han shouts. 

"And yet --" Lando pauses at the top, ducking down so Han can see him smirking. "It's fresh, piping hot, and being offered to you out of the kindness of my heart."

"Like you _have_ a heart, unless you bought one," Han mumbles, gathering up his tools, wiping the worst of the grease off his hands. As he enters the ship, heading to the galley, he calls, "Making yourself right at home, are you?"

Lando twitches one shoulder to keep his short, casual-wear cape out of the way as he carries two platters out of the galley toward the lounge. He has an apron - one of Chewie's - wrapped twice around his waist. Rather than looking ridiculous, it simply accentuates the sinuous lines of his long torso and hips.

"Wash up," Lando tells him. "You look like - and this is a kind estimate - you're half grease."

Han hesitates. This _is_ his ship. He doesn't have to wash up unless he wants to. "Fine."

When he returns, scrubbed pink and raw, Leia has arrived. He gets that stupid shiver at the bottom of his spine she's always given him, but it heats into irritation the longer he stands there, and they just keep chatting, helping each other fill their plates. He might as well be invisible for all they care.

He wishes Chewie were here. Even if he's yelling at Han, at least he never fails to _notice_ him.

Maybe he'll go find Luke. Busy as he is with cosmic wizardry and elite squadron details, he's never less than happy to see Han.

"Planning to join us any time soon?" Lando asks, finally, his tone suggesting that this is _Han's_ fault somehow. He takes his time glancing over, loath, no doubt, to tear his gaze away from Leia.

He's just so _gallant_ that way.

"Or you could keep lurking in the passageway like some sort of heavy-breathing creep," Leia puts in. She smiles to soften it, but not enough.

"Well, you two're taking up the whole couch," Han points out. "Need to go find something to sit on."

Lando shifts closer to Leia and pats the cushion beside him. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'll be back --" Han stalks out, heads into the hold and grabs the first crate he sees. He lugs it back, drops it without ceremony on the far side of the dejarik table, then himself on it, and reaches for the nearest platter.

Lando tut-tuts his tongue. "That's not all for you."

"I'm _hungry_ ," Han says. He clutches the platter. Lando and Leia each hold smaller plates, heaped with different servings. "You've already got yours."

"And still," Lando says, taking the platter back, "that's not all for you."

He gets like this, especially when there's someone else with them, he always has. Gets patronizing, talking down to Han, like he's still street trash and the great and elegant Calrissian's doing the galaxy a _favor_ taking Han off everyone else's hands. It's a performance that Han has always hated with his every fiber.

Han narrows his eyes at Lando. It takes a lot more than a pretty cape and unctuous voice to make a gentleman, he knows that now. He got fooled, sure, dazzled by the mustache and courtly manner, but he was a stupid kid then. He knows where Lando came from. Maybe it was a different street under a different moon and set of stars, but it was just as trashy as Han's own.

"What is your _problem_?" Leia demands, breaking off from her anecdote to glare at Han.

"Nothing." Han takes several bites in quick order and swallows hard. "Just hungry."

The food isn't _that_ bad. Maybe Lando's taken some lessons. He can afford it now, after all.

Leia turns back to Lando to finish her tale of the all-lady fighter squadron, then promises to give him the comlink info for the current queen of Naboo. Han rolls his eyes. It's no surprise at all that aristocrats take care of their own, but it's still revolting.

"Stupid to go back to Coruscant," he says when there's finally a pause. "Stupidest plan since our last stupid plan." 

Leia frowns at him as if he's suddenly started talking Binary. Lando smiles a little and pours him more brandy, which Han knocks back, wishing it'd do its job even more quickly than it does. He reaches for the bottle, but Lando lifts his chin to indicate Han's plate.

"Oh, mummy, please may I have some?" Han asks, shaking his glass at Lando. "Promise to eat all my vegetables."

Leia laughs at that, which is both a surprise and almost exhilarating; if he can't make her laugh, he'll make her yell, but he'd always prefer the former.

Sighing, Lando hands over the brandy. "You can understand why I was so glad to see the back of him."

Han snorts. "Not as I recall."

(He doesn't recall, as a matter of fact, very much at all, and what he does remember is blurry at best. But he knows that Lando was in much the same state as he, exhausted, ground down, so drunk neither could stand for very long at all. Han likes to think he was crying, but that might be a detail he added later.)

Leia's smile curves like a Toydarian scythe as she looks back and forth between them. That hot, fizzing sensation in his spine increases.

"This is all most intriguing," she tells Lando, and puts her hand atop his, just on the edge of the table. She looks at Han, however, as she adds, "though I'd appreciate more information, fewer hints and obscure references."

Nodding, Lando covers her hand with his other one. "What do you say, Solo? Satisfy the lady's curiosity?"

Han shovels more food into his mouth and waves his free hand dismissively. "You two're welcome to..." He swallows and, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth (they know he's uncultured, ill-mannered trash, why should he have to pretend otherwise?), grins, leaning back. "Do whatever it is rich fucks get up to."

Neither of them replies. 

Lando seems slightly taken aback - it must be so difficult, those rare occasions when his charm fails - and Leia looks tired again, the way she has since Hoth, ever more so as time passes. Tired and resigned. The challenging tilt to her head is gone, replaced by tensely squared shoulders and set jaw.

Han sighs and sets down his plate. "What sort of information were you interested in, princess?"

Now she's going to look away, pretend she'd said nothing of the kind, turn it back on him. She'll bite her lip, shake her head a little as if in frustration at him.

Lando leans toward Han, head cocked, gaze intent. 

**_What?_** Han wants to bark, but he doesn't. He plants his elbow on the very edge of the table, and, sighing, shrugs once, passing his palm over his face:  Queen in peril, attempt Idiot's Array, in their old sabacc code. Go for it, I have nothing to lose.

This is a terrible idea. Han, however, has rarely met a terrible idea that he hasn't run toward headlong, embraced tightly, bent over and opened himself to get fucked raw by.

As terrible ideas go, he could do a lot worse than this, simply on an aesthetic level. Lando, lifting her hand, then turning it palm up, pressing his open mouth against it; Leia, glancing at Han, then back to Lando, her body nearly shivering toward him in response; and Han, watching, head still in his hand, admiring just how beautiful they both are. 

Lando doesn't kiss Leia, nor the reverse, but they tip together, and meet with open mouths and wrapping limbs.

It hurts, watching them kiss. The pain is a specific, filigreed affair, sharply barbed, wrapping the full extent of his skin. It is, somehow, _good_ , just sharp enough to tease out pleasure but keep him on edge. Han licks his lips and leans forward. She's small and rose-creamy against Lando's bronzed warmth. He has one elegant hand on her neck, the other on one of her breasts, and they look beautiful together. Perfect.

No one will tell Han what, if anything, happened while he was frozen. Lando simply raises an eyebrow and gives a minute shake of his head; Leia gets furious and storms off; Chewie grumbles about small-minded pettiness and unnecessary distractions.

He hasn't asked Luke. Luke would tell him the truth.

He can't tell, watching them now, if they've done this before. If they haven't, they should have, purely on aesthetic grounds.

Leia squirms, tugging off her blouse, letting it drop behind her, then, hand on Lando's chest, head against his shoulder, she looks at Han. Licks her swollen mouth and says, "Stop thinking."

"I'm not," he says.

Lando laughs at that, and the motion of it travels to Leia, shifts her up and down, makes her breasts tremble slightly.

"Yeah, yeah," Han goes on, "thinking's not my strong suit, I get it."

"No," Lando says, and extends his hand. He grazes Han's knee, pinches the fabric of his breeches and tugs. "It's not, but you have many other talents to recommend you."

Leia's smile curves like a blade. "That's news to me."

"Ha-ha," Han tells her. "Is it difficult, being _so_ contrary and awful all the time?"

"As a matter of fact --" she starts, then takes a breath. One shoulder lifts, and her voice goes a little soft. "Get over here, you idiot."

He shuffles over on his knees, pushing the dejarik table out of the way - he hears it topple, the plates crashing, but doesn't bother to check.

"Now _this_ always was one of your finer talents," Lando says, cupping Han's cheek, looking down at him. 

For a moment, Han thinks he means knocking things over and making a mess, which is true enough. But then Lando tugs Han's head back, gently, just slightly, and slides his gaze down Han's throat. His meaning becomes suddenly very clear.

The comment ought to sting - Han could work up a good, long complaint about it - but Lando is saying it so softly, almost fondly, _nostalgically_ , that for a moment it does the opposite of sting. It sinks in, softly, blanketing Han with warmth. When he chews the side of his mouth, thinking, debating how to respond, Lando strokes the corner of his lips and smiles, and smiles some more. Leia takes a shivering breath.

"Well. This _is_ news to me," she says, every bit as softly. Han snorts at that, then realizes she isn't joking.

" _How_?" he asks. He'd go down on her in a hyperlane, at a strategy session, out on the Hoth tundra, she knows that very well. Lando presses the pad of this thumb against Han's lips, then inside. He chuckles appreciatively when Han's tongue flicks back and forth across it.

Lando spreads his legs slightly, even as he gathers Leia against his side, his cape whispering over her bare shoulders.

Han rubs his hands up and down his thighs. "There's a double-wide berth just steps away, you know. We could be _comfortable_."

Maybe he's buying time. That would be new.

"But you look comfortable right now," Leia says, patting his hair, tucking some behind his ear. 

Han smirks at her. "Not as comfortable as you two, but I've felt worse."

"So brave," she murmurs, "and nary a complaint, ever."

Lando's laugh breaks out at that, crystal-sharp and loud. He claps his hands, helps Leia to her feet, and leads the way to Han's bunkroom. 

"It's still _my_ ship!" Han yells after him, scrambling to his feet. The mess he made of the food and dejarik table is going to have to wait. The brandy fools with his sense of balance, nearly overtips him. He has to grab the bulkhead and hold on for several moments before his feet find the ground steady below him.

When he makes it to the bunkroom, Leia is sitting on the edge of the berth, one leg folded up, the other swinging gently. She's so small - how does he always forget that? - that her toes just graze the floor. Bare to the waist, her braids already frowsy and loosening, she's flushed, excited, almost _girlish_.

He doesn't know what he wants, but the sight of her invariably makes him want to do something big - grab a bouquet or sing her a song - something foolhardy and extravagant.

She isn't looking at him, however. She's smiling, listening to Lando as he hangs up his cape and tugs off his jersey, then unlaces the front of his breeches. He's as lean as he ever was; perhaps up close, you could feel a little extra padding or looser skin, but Han doubts it.

He wouldn't put it past the vain old bastard to sleep in a bacta tank and smuggle in new, untested spa treatments from the Outer Rim. Sand weasels or nibbling coralflies or what have you, anything that promises to keep you smooth, taut, handsome.

"Whatever it is, it's working," Han says without thinking, and they swing their heads in tandem, startled by his appearance. He shrugs and leans in the doorway. "What? You weren't going to wait for me?"

They're silent. Both of them, half-undressed, regarding him so calmly that he has to quell the impulse to check behind his back, see if there's something more compelling that they're looking at.

There's nowhere to hide, nothing to duck behind, not with these two looking at him. They both know him better than he knows himself.

He's done for. 

Then again, what a way to go.

Han steps into the bunkroom, hitting the heel of one hand against the panel to seal the door and pulling his jersey off over his head with the other.

By the time he makes it to the berth, to touch Leia's shoulder, then her smooth back, he's grinning, cocking his head, looking Lando up and down.

"Where were we?"

Lando tugs at the cords lacing his breeches. "Your talents, I believe, and the princess's disbelief in their existence."

Han bats Lando's hands out of the way as he sinks down onto the corner of the berth and makes quick work of getting the cords all the way unlaced, Lando's breeches eased down to his knees. Leia's come up behind him, chin on Han's shoulder, breath warm on his cheek as he runs his palms up and down Lando's hips, across his buttocks, then back to the front.

"These talents?" he asks, stroking Lando's balls back and pushing his lips over the head of his cock. Leia's arm comes around Han's waist, her nails in his skin, as she leans in closer, all but pushing him forward, down, his tongue and lips sliding the length of Lando's cock,

"The very same," Lando says, his voice tighter, higher, than normal. Han looks up, and Lando's looking down as he rocks his hips gently. Lando winks, then adds, "And you, sweetheart?"

Han's about to reply - _bit busy here_ \- but realizes just in time that Lando's talking to Leia. She pushes her other arm under Han's, reaching to touch Lando's thigh, then the base of his shaft, and Lando groans at that, his head falling back, hips rocking faster.

Han doesn't exactly have much room to work in here. He's not _complaining_ , mind, but it's worth noting. Lando tastes just as ridiculously good as he ever did, rich and _musky_ , almost syrupy with salt threaded through it. Leia's wrist keeps banging Han's chin, but he's not about to stop; he leans a little to the left, grasping Lando's ass with one hand, matching his rhythm with quick, sliding dips and longer, slower drags back up.

Leia's breath comes fast and shallow. The arm she has around Han's waist loosens and tightens; she probably isn't aware of that, but then she's touching Han's groin, tracing the outline of his erection with her fingertips. She whispers in his ear - something about _never knew how much you liked this_ \- but he can't hear clearly, not with her breath, his own, his heartbeat, and Lando's unfurling symphony of moans and broken pieces of encouragement and praise.

Han swallows, and swallows again, but the angle's still too shallow, there's too much here, and Lando's cock is already throbbing across his tongue.

"Mmm, _perfect_ ," Lando says, one hand on Han's forehead to keep him in place while he withdraws. For a split second Han tries to follow, open mouth, closed eyes, but he hears Leia start to giggle and catches himself.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks, shifting a little, digging her hand into Han's fly.

"Yeah," Han says, mouth thick with unswallowed spit and precum. "Not up to your new standards?"

Leia shakes her head and pokes him with her free hand. "He _said_ it was perfect."

"And it was," Lando says, combing back Han's hair before stepping free and out of his breeches. "I simply thought we could, perhaps. Try something for all three of us." Han's not sure, but he _thinks_ Leia shifts, trembles, at that. "I'd hate, you know, to take my pleasure before a lady has her chance."

Han groans, long and loud, and flings himself backward, displacing Leia. He throws an arm over his eyes. "This is stupid."

He's hard, and Leia's touching him again. Her small, strong hand on him is exactly what he dreams about now, so perhaps they can be forgiven for not taking him very seriously.

But he is serious. "This is stupid," he says, still covering his eyes even as his hips roll to thrust into Leia's palm. "I don't think this is a good idea."

All he hears in response, however, is Leia's soft chuckle and what must be Lando kneeling onto the berth, then the slow, wet sounds of them kissing.

When he's the voice of reason, they should all be very worried. They're both far too confident to see anything wrong, any possible downside, to proceeding.

Why shouldn't they be so confident? Beautiful, accomplished, capable of surviving just about any tribulation with flair, they have nothing to worry about.

(He's not being fair. Of course they have worries, but they'll *survive* those worries, they'll come out stronger and prettier and even more lovable.

Some people get chewed up by life and its troubles. Others just get polished brighter yet. Han knows which kind he is, and he's nothing like these two.)

Han opens his eyes and drops his arm to watch. This kiss is deeper, harder, than their earlier one. He can hear the occasional click of teeth, and Leia's bitten-off moans, see Lando's shoulders bow as he clutches at Leia and pours himself into it.

Maybe that's why he can't stay away from either of them, not for very long. If he sticks close enough, the logic might go, he can hide in their radiance, duck the worst of the grind and chewing, maybe come out slightly ahead for once.

At the very least, with someone like Lando or Leia nearby, you're better set up to pass the troubling times.

"Now, if you'd be so kind, my dear --" Lando's _lifting_ Leia, just like that, kissing her before settling her right on Han. "That's good, that's _wonderful_." 

She looks over her shoulder at Han, smiling almost shyly as she strokes him. He smiles back - what else is he supposed to do? - grins, really, reaches up to brush his fingertips down her back. That's _his girl_ , touching him, naked and beautiful, flushed and glistening with sweat, kneeling up to take him inside.

"Fuck." Han bangs his head against the mattress, and again, clutching at Leia's hips. She's working herself down _so_ slowly, tortuously, kissing Lando again. He can see the tips of Lando's fingers coming around her sides; he's cupping her breasts, probably working his thumbs over her nipples, given the way her breath is fluttering and she's squeezing around him, already rocking.

"Touch her. Lick her, that's better," Han gets out, "c'mon, man, she likes a lot --"

Lando looks over Leia's shoulder. "I'm sure you remember, but I _do_ know what I'm doing."

Leia rocks against Han, clenching twice as long as usual, and his hands flex and release involuntarily.

Han swallows, getting his hands back on her hips, thrusting up. "Just trying to --"

"Look at me," Lando says. His voice is gravel, suddenly.

Han pushes up a little ways, squinting. Leia moves with him, her ass spreading like over-ripe fruit against his belly. "What? I _am_."

Lando's hand sweeps up and down Leia's back; he dips down, kissing her, then looks back at Han. "We can do this like old times. But I don't want to presume --"

Han snorts a laugh and flops back down. "You can't offend or shock _her_ , despite what she'd have you think."

All her primness was a shield, easily dismantled once he knew the truth, once he'd heard her swear worse than any stevedore or long-haul pirate, perfectly audible even with her thighs clamped around his skull and her fist beating bruises into his shoulder.

"All right," Lando says, and then, a moment later, somehow more quietly, "thank you."

"Don't thank me --" Han stops talking then, as Lando turns his attention back to Leia and Leia rocks faster on him.

"Tell me about him, tell me all about him," she says to Lando. 

She rocks up and down Han's length, then up again, and holds herself there, just the head of his cock inside, as she wraps her arms around Lando's neck and kisses him. 

"I'm right here," Han protests, hands on her waist, digging his thumbs into the meat of her buttocks.

Lazily, languorously, she breaks the kiss and looks over her shoulder. One braid has worked free and tumbles down her flushed back, brushing his hands.

She doesn't say anything, but she smiles at him, one of those infinitesimal, secret purse-and-dimples of her mouth, then sinks down on him, reaching between his legs and tickling his ballsac. He groans and she grins at that, rocking again, harder. When she turns back around, head dropping, the muscles in her shoulders and back work like wings under skin.

Lando's hand comes around her back, interlocking his fingers with Han's, just for a moment. 

He says _something_ that gets lost when, at the same time, he pushes up Han's left leg and slides two of his fingers inside, not too fast, not nearly fast enough, but enough that Han's shouting, pushing into it and rolling his hips against Leia and _drowning_ in the heat and pressure.

"You were --" He was supposed to fuck Leia, wasn't he? That was what he'd said. They were going to do it together, like old times, like that long holiday out in the Marca sector with the Falleen cousins or that breathless night on Mygeeto with the foul-mouthed lady merc. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

His back arches, he has to hold Leia in place, and the whole time, Lando is just swaying into Han, more fingers now, so much slick that Han can hear the squelch and gush of it. Leia's pulsing around him, occasionally - he thinks - touching her clit, stroking his balls, but mostly, so far as he can tell, _watching_.

Leia moans again, looking back at Han for a second as he rolls up to meet Lando's hand, then twisting back around, throwing an arm around Lando's neck and pulling him close.

"Do it," she says, almost sadly. Not sadly. Urgently, or brokenly. What does she care? "Please."

Lando rocks his hips into Han, pushing in as Leia pulls up, going deep, so gentle and slow, like they've got all the time in the world, like they do this every day, _like anyone has ever seen them do this_.

Leia's fingers dig into Lando's shoulder. Han can hear her breath, sharp and fragmented, _feel_ her bear down and clench around him every time Lando thrusts in. 

He isn't sure if it's shame that's lighting up his nerves, dancing across them, skittering and glowing. Some leftover, deeply buried shame he'd forgotten about, or pushed away, moved on with it rattling around the hold. Maybe it is. No one's done this to him, not since -- well, since Lando, the last time. ( _Someone_ was crying that time, and they did it standing up in the security-room of that shitty casino, not looking at each other, Han holding himself stock-still as long as he could as Lando shoved against his back, and even so, Han came hard enough to see new stars born.) And no one's ever seen it, or known about it (except Chewie, but Wookiees are the soul of discretion). Now Leia's _watching_ , moaning a little, somehow working her rhythm to match Lando so that they both might as well be fucking Han, tunnelling him open, then twisting him up deep. Now she _knows_.

One hand slips off her sweaty hip, down her buttock, and Han fiddles idly with her crack, just the top of it, until she's bending forward, plastered against Lando's chest, and his thumb is stroking around the hole back here.

Sometimes he wants to wrap her in silk and store her away, keep her safe from the world, from the likes of him. She's got no one else, except Luke, and she'd kill both of them for ever suggesting she needs their protection. But she doesn't know what the world can do to you, still, despite everything she's seen, won and lost, done. She might know Vader, but the ordinary, terribly everyday sort of cruelty is still foreign to her.

Other times, he wants to take her every single way he can think of, then go to the holo-net and look up more positions. He wants to drown, eating her out, fuck her from behind until she collapses, and stay inside all night, fucking her some more, until she can't deny the pleasure, or dismiss her desire, or do anything but love him back.

He just wants _her_.

When she starts to switch her hips back and forth, her elbow lifting and falling as she rubs herself, he feels her orgasm surrounding him, gathering, assaulting him in wave after wave that does not let up. He reaches around, tries to find her hand, her clit, help her, but the shift makes Lando almost growl, drive in harder. Leia keeps coming, watching, bouncing around him as Lando pushes both of Han's legs until his feet are flat on the bed, knees bent, and Lando's fucking forward, just going deeper, his mouth on Leia's shoulder, Leia lying back on Han, and it's almost enough, the weight, the undeniable _heaviness_ of their presence, pinning him here, making him come and coming around, in, for him.

He can't stop groaning. He doesn't think he's saying anything, just wrapping one half-numb arm around Leia, holding her here. She wraps her legs around Lando's waist as Lando drives in faster, rougher, jaggedly, dragging up pleasure Han'd forgotten about, or let dull down to nothing. He regrets that now, regrets it enough to feel his eyes sting even as he twists and stretches for more.

Leia turns her head, mouth finding Han's chest, his neck, and she bites into a kiss and he's slipping out of her, cock softening but riding her folds, nudging her clit enough to make her shudder and gasp.

Lando finishes, as always, with a flourish, his head thrown back and entire torso undulating into an endless thrust, the deepest yet. Han's seen him go up onto his toes, curled against the floor, to make the final push. His face is alight with sweat, his mouth open, bright teeth and bottomless laugh.

Even Leia notices, pushing herself up, reaching to touch his chest. She drags her nails down the center and Lando clasps her hand, bringing it back to his mouth, kissing it. _Licking_ it clean, finger by finger, as he softens and twitches inside Han.

Han wants to sleep for about ten days with his arms around Leia. That, or kick the _Falcon_ into hyperspace and just _go_ , any route, as long as it's far, and dark, and solitary.

This is how they get him. Beautiful people, willing to touch him, and he's so grateful he'll stay as long as he can, until they wise up. Preferably just before they wise up, but usually after they do, when they've remembered to yell at him and curse his very presence.

It just wouldn't be a retreat without some choice cruelties hurled his way.

Lando pulls out with a quick jerk of his hips, neat and elegant, and sits down next to Han and Leia. His shoulders are tilted, one hand rubs the back of his neck. Sweat glitters along his spine; he shudders a little when Han touches it.

Leia's on her feet, pulling on her jersey and padding away to the refresher before Han quite catches on to why she's not lying on him any longer.

The aftershocks are still twitching and tingling through him, but they're starting to dim.

"Quite a woman," Lando says without turning around.

"That can't be news to you."

Lando laughs a little. "Well. No."

The curls along the nape of Lando's neck are heavy with sweat. Han walks his fingers up Lando's vertebrae, heading there, taking his time. "She's going back to Coruscant."

Lando leans over, maybe to retrieve something from the floor, or scratch his leg. Out of reach. "You're going with her."

"Is that an order?"

"Would it help if I made it one?"

Han closes his eyes, works his lips together. "Picture me, the senator's wife, hostess with the fucking mostest."

"No one proposed," Leia says from the passage. "Trust you to think so ridiculously highly of yourself."

"Yeah?" Han sits up, heat breaking out like a rash across his chest and down his throat. "Well, who else is going to?"


End file.
